


say what you mean (tell me i'm right)

by YaketySax



Category: Bandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:36:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6046788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YaketySax/pseuds/YaketySax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Wear something nice,” says Debby, her red mouth stretched in a shit-eating grin.</i>
</p><p>  <i>Jenna gnaws her lip. She’s got a clean pair of cat-patterned pajama pants, and not much else.</i></p><p>  <i>“Or, come over to my place after work. I’m sure I can spare something.” Debby rests a hand on Jenna’s shoulder, trails it down until her nails drape over Jenna’s collarbone. “Actually, I kind of want you to do that.”</i></p><p>a gift for bo! because this headcanon was theirs and i turned it into an ultra-cheesy drabble</p>
            </blockquote>





	say what you mean (tell me i'm right)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alvaughn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alvaughn/gifts).



> i chose the ballad of mona lisa by panic at the disco for this title because it kind of works? a little? and it was stuck in my head.
> 
> this fits into the CEO debby/intern jenna wonderful nonsense AU that bo and i enjoy. it's also completely unedited, be warned!
> 
> rarepairs will FUCK YOU UP, my dude

“Hey, babe.” Debby strides into Jenna’s cubicle, her uncharacteristically long skirt flowing like a cape. “You’ve got plans tonight.”

Jenna’s eyes sting, her wrists ache like hell, and the manuscript in her word processor isn’t getting any less dense. She’d been daydreaming about leaping into sweats and ordering Chinese after work; “plans” meant she’d probably have to fix the hairs escaping her bun, and put on more than mascara.

But Debby leans over Jenna’s desk, and when she turns, she’s got an eyeful of cleavage edged by black lace. Her face heats. 

“Okay,” she says. So Debby’s trading the tiny skirts for low necklines. That’s playing dirty.

“Wear something nice,” says Debby, her red mouth stretched in a shit-eating grin.

Jenna gnaws her lip. She’s got a clean pair of cat-patterned pajama pants, and not much else.

“Or, come over to my place after work. I’m sure I can spare something.” Debby rests a hand on Jenna’s shoulder, trails it down until her nails drape over Jenna’s collarbone. “Actually, I kind of want you to do that.”

Jenna suppresses a shrug--she doesn’t want to dislodge Debby’s hand, a gesture of both warmth and warning. Possession, maybe. She crosses her legs. “Sure.”

“I’ll pick you up at six. Reservation’s at seven.” Debby’s bent down, close to Jenna’s ear. Her hair tickles Jenna’s neck.

“See you then,” says Jenna, flatly. All she can smell is expensive leather and Debby’s floral shampoo. She bites her tongue.

Debby doesn’t bend farther to kiss Jenna. She doesn’t bury her fingers in Jenna’s hair and pull forward until Jenna gets lost in dragging lips and hints of teeth--Debby’s done that before, but she doesn’t today, because they’ve really gotta stop fucking in the office. Instead, she straightens, adjusts her neckline, and walks away. 

Her heels don’t clack on the carpet, but the thumps are still enough to get Jenna’s heart rate up. Like Pavlov’s goddamn bell.

\---

Jenna’s still watching Debby shuffle through her walk-in closet by 7:15. She sighs, stuffs her phone back in her pocket. “Aren’t we late?”

“What?” Debby tosses a wine-red dress on the bed.

“You said the reservation was at seven.”

“Oh, honey,” says Debby, clutching an armful of skirts, “the reservation is whenever I get there. Try that on, you look good in red.”

\---

Debby had eventually settled on something simple and black--but for a dress with a square neckline, it’s obnoxiously short. Jenna fights the instinct to tug down on the hem while Debby says something careful and quiet to the restaurant’s host; they’re seated immediately, catching dirty looks from the couples waiting in line. The lighting is subtly gold, highlighted in the lacquer on the heavy wooden tables, brightening the scarlet leather in their booth. It’s the kind of place that probably has four different fork sizes.

A falsely enthusiastic waiter hands them a pair of menus. He’s got a smile that’s practically cut and pasted from a car commercial, one that Jenna can’t bear to return. It doesn’t help when she glances at the food prices. She inhales sharply at the sight of sixty dollar entrees.

Debby eyes Jenna, a crinkle between her brows. “What, are you afraid we’re going Dutch? I’ve got it. Order what you want.”

“No, I just--” Jenna tucks a stray hair behind her ear, frowning. “Sometimes it’s weird for me. When you toss that much money around.”

Debby scoffs. “You’re acting like I don’t know what I’m doing. It’s not like I’m burning it.”

“I know.” Jenna shifts. The leather’s sticking to her bare thighs.

“Jenna.” Debby finds Jenna’s eyes. She stares Jenna down, and the intent in her gaze is like a physical force. “You’re worth it to me.”

The waiter chooses that moment to return to their table, greeting them with a syrupy “hello, ladies” and the same nasty grin. Jenna balls her hands into involuntary fists.

“Are you two having a nice girls’ night out?” He chuckles. “Gotta get away from the boyfriends once in a while, huh?”

For a second, the only sound is background chatter and clinking silverware.

“Excuse me?” says Debby.

Oh, God. Her voice is low, indignant, threaded through with anger. Jenna sets a placating hand on her knee.

“Sorry, sorry,” says the waiter. “There’s nothing wrong with being single, either. Shouldn’t have assumed. Did you get a chance to look at our wine list?”

Fuck. Jenna tries to patch up the conversation, but it’s like putting a bandaid on a broken bone. “Actually--”

Debby interrupts. “There’s a lot you shouldn’t assume.” She slides up to Jenna’s side, laces their fingers together in a tight grip. “I’m sorry we don’t fit whatever gay stereotype you’ve got in your thick skull, but I’m in love with this woman, and I’m not going to tolerate that kind of disrespect towards her.”

Debby’s knuckles are white, clutching Jenna’s hand. The waiter’s mouth hangs half open.

“If you’d like to keep your job,” she says, “leave. Right now. And find us a different server.”

He backs away, metaphorical tail between his legs. Jenna might have felt bad for him, but she’s struck silent, mentally replaying Debby’s words to parse out a single phrase.

“I can’t fucking believe that guy,” Debby’s saying, under the roaring of Jenna’s pulse in her ears. “I might actually have to chase down his manager.” Debby grips the water glass, takes a drink, her hand straining like she wants it to shatter.

“Do you love me?” says Jenna.

Debby chokes. A little water dribbles from her mouth, and she leaves maroon lipstick on the white napkin when she pats herself dry.

“You said so.” Jenna’s hand slides from Debby’s knee to her thigh. “Just now. Did you mean it?”

It’s the first time Jenna’s seen Debby look vulnerable: she’s studying the wood grain in the table, her lips parted slightly, like she might speak. After a while, she does. “This isn’t how I wanted it to go.”

“Debby.” Jenna’s skin feels too tight. Her stomach flips.

“I was gonna take you to the rooftop. My building’s got a really nice one. There’s a garden--”

“Debby, did you mean it?” Jenna leans close.

Debby sighs. “Yeah. I did.”

Jenna climbs into Debby’s lap, swinging her leg around Debby’s thigh. The table clatters backwards. Jenna doesn’t hear it. She falls forward and takes Debby’s mouth in an urgent kiss, both hands firm on Debby’s shoulders, and she fights to keep her balance. It’s thrilling, intoxicating. Jenna smiles against Debby’s lips.

The seconds stretch to minutes before they break for air. “Hey,” says Debby, a haze in her voice, “aren’t you always on my ass for making a scene?”

Jenna beams. “I love you, too.”


End file.
